


Birthday Blues

by lyricalsoul



Series: Mystrade Tumblr Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, M/M, Mycroft is a virgo, Mycroft's birthday, Mystrade - relationship - Freeform, Red Pants, a bit of angst, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was my birthday when I wrote this, and it sucked. So, in honor of the day, I wrote some more Mystrade Red Pants. It started out angsty, but heats up. I think Mycroft is a Virgo, so I gave him my birth date as his own. (Sept 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of the Mystrade Tumblr Ficlets. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft signed the document and placed it back in the red folder. He closed and locked his desk drawers, and stood. “I’m done for the day, Anthea. Have the car ready.”

“It’s only half five,” Anthea says, and immediately cringes. “Sorry, sir.”

“I am well aware of the time. However, I am done for the day. The more pressing matters will keep. Of course, you’ll contact me if anything arises that requires my immediate attention.”

“Of course.” She takes up his briefcase, coat, and umbrella, and follows him out of the office. “Is there anything… can I assist you with something else, sir? I haven’t any plans tonight….”

“No, my dear,” Mycroft says easily. “Enjoy your week-end. Give your aunt my best wishes on her marriage.”

“I will.” She hands over his belongings. “Happy birthday, sir.”

The lobby, which was bustling with activity, becomes deathly silent. Mycroft lifts an eyebrow. “Well played, Anthea. My office will be brimming with flowers and gifts on Monday. I expect you to handle it. I hate the concept of celebrating a birthday. ”

“Yes, sir. Have a good evening, sir.”

She watches him with sad eyes until he is driven away in the car.

***

Mycroft enters the house, and is immediately on alert. Delicious smells are coming from the kitchen, and to his knowledge, he gave the staff the weekend off so he could brood in peace. He’d even told Gregory that he’d be tied up for most of the weekend to keep him away.

He heads for the kitchen, wielding his umbrella. The idea that a burglar would break in and cook was rather strange, but he’s seen sillier acts of crime. I just hope I don’t have to fight, he thinks sourly. It’s been ages.

He eases the kitchen door open to find Gregory lighting candles along the terrace wall. “Gregory?”

Lestrade turns to face him with a smile. “You’re home early.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wasn’t expecting you until after eight. Thankfully, I have an in with your assistant, and had everything finished early.”

“What…” Mycroft clears his throat. “What is all this?”

“Birthday dinner.”

“For me?”

“See any other people here having a birthday?” Lestrade asks with a grin.

“No one knows when my birthday is. It’s a secret.”

Lestrade laughs, and pulls Mycroft into a hug. “No? Well, you’re a Virgo if there ever was one.”

Mycroft untangles himself from Lestrade’s embrace. “Sherlock. Damn him.”

“You don’t want to celebrate with me?”

At Lestrade’s crestfallen tone, Mycroft frowns. “It’s not you. I simply don’t choose to acknowledge the day. It’s never been… ah, pleasant for me. Mummy and Father never… they didn’t do anything for me, so I’d rather just let the day pass.”

“Wait,” Lestrade says angrily. “Even when you were a kid? No parties, no cake, no ice cream? You didn’t have friends over and-“

“Gregory, please.” Mycroft turns and heads toward the bedroom, divesting himself of his overcoat, umbrella, and shoes on the way. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He sighs and stops in the doorway of the bedroom. “I… appreciate the effort you went to, but I’d rather not celebrate.”

Lestrade sighs and shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just… let me straighten up, and I’ll leave you to it.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“It won’t take a minute.” Lestrade is back in the kitchen before Mycroft can form an answer. He knows he should follow, should apologize, but he doesn’t have the energy. He decides a shower will relax him, and heads for the bedroom instead.

***

Twenty minutes later, Mycroft is out of the shower, dressing gown firmly belted, toweling his hair dry. He sits heavily on the bed, wondering if he’d pushed Gregory too far. 

“Are you all right?”

Mycroft manages not to jump at the unexpected voice. “Ah… yes, I’m fine. I thought you’d gone.”

“I started to, but then realised I gave Sally my flat for the weekend. Hers is being painted.”

“Of course you can stay. It wasn’t my intention to ruin your plans.”

Lestrade shrugs. “I brought a tray. Birthday or not, you’ve got to eat, and I know you’ll love the roast.”

“You made a roast? You can’t cook.”

“I can make requests of your cook, though.”

Eyeing the tray with interest, Mycroft tosses the wet towel aside, and lifts the lid. Prime rib roast, mashed parsnips, and candied carrots – his ‘last meal’ request. Cooked to perfection, of course. “Gregory, this is… it’s perfect. I’m sorry for-“

“No,” Lestrade cuts in. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would celebrate the day.”

“You bought me a gift.” Mycroft narrows his eyes. “Two gifts.”

“I did. I can… it’s nothing that can’t be returned.”

“Let me see what you’ve got.”

Opening the chest at the foot of the bed, Lestrade pulls out two modestly wrapped boxes. He hands over the first one, a small, black velvet box with a tiny red bow on top. “I hope you like this. It’s not your usual-.”

Mycroft holds up a hand. “Don’t apologise. It’s a gift from your heart. How could I not love it?” He takes the box, and in true Holmes fashion, simply looks at it for a long moment. “Jewelry, Gregory? You’re such a romantic.”

“My ex-wife didn’t think so, given how many anniversaries I forgot. You’re a good influence on me. Don’t deduce, Mycroft. Open.” 

“Of course.” Mycroft opens the box, and smiles. “Cufflinks.” He takes the round discs from the box, and eyes them carefully. “Solid and well-made. Are these… did you commission these?”

Lestrade blushes. “I did. The umbrella is blue sapphires – your birthstone – and the cufflinks are sterling silver. Anthea provided the name of your jeweler, who was more than happy to assist me.”

Mycroft leans forward and kisses him gently. “Thank you, Gregory. I’ll wear them on Monday.”

“The first time I met you, you hooked me with your umbrella handle when I was trying to make a clean get away from your warehouse of doom.”

“You took my money, even though you had no intention of spying on my brother.”

“Yes. A true opportunist. I wanted to see you again, so I figured taking your money would piss you off, and you’d come after me.”

“As if I’d let you leave with my money.”

“I’m glad you hooked me. Otherwise, I’d have never found out just how sexy you are when you’re angry. So, these cufflinks were commissioned with that blue shirt in mind. I love that shirt.”

“You’re fond of all my shirts. I do believe more than one of them is at your flat, hanging in the closet.” 

“You’re the one who has ripped off my shirts, and sent me home in yours.”

“On the condition that you return them.”

“You weren’t specific about that,” Lestrade says, ducking his head. “Ready for the next one?”

“Of course.”

“This is my gag gift.” Lestrade hands over the flat box with a wicked grin. “And this is the perfect time to give it to you.”

Mycroft opens the box. He frowns, then looks at Lestrade, both brows raised. “What… Gregory… these are…”

“Red pants. Boxer briefs. Put them on.”

“I…” Mycroft blushes. “You’re giving me red pants. Oh, and it’s Monday. Gregory… we talked about this last Monday when you-“

“You loved it, and you know it,” Lestrade interrupts. “Come on, Mycroft… put them on for me.”

“I look dreadful in red.”

“Rubbish. I think you look sexy in whatever you wear. And I showed great restraint in not getting the ones I really wanted to see you in. I didn’t think you’d wear a thong, even for me.”

“How well you almost know me.” Mycroft’s tone is sarcastic.

Lestrade’s eyes go round and wide, and he gives a shy, endearing smile. “Please?”

Oh, no, Mycroft thinks. Not the begging. I can take anything but the begging. “Gregory… they’ll be rather… form-fitting.”

“Umm… yes.” Lestrade sounds just short of lascivious.

“I’m not… I can… maybe after a week of abdominal crunches…?”

“Mycroft!”

“I’m only being honest.”

“No, you’re being an idiot. Like I don’t know what you look like under that dressing gown,” he huffs. “I’ve seen and touched every inch of your delectable body. From your long, long legs, to the downy soft hair that runs down below your navel, to your quite pert arse. So your stomach isn’t flat; neither is mine, and that hasn’t stopped you one bit. Why should it bother me?”

“I suppose I’m feeling a bit out of sorts today. I hate birthdays.”

“You’ve every right to hate past birthdays, but not this one. We’re together now, and the past is the past. You’ve got a beautiful body, and I am dying to see it in these red pants. Please.”

“Fine.” Mycroft sighs and stands up. With his back turned, he manages to slither into the pants without removing the dressing gown. “Happy now?”

“Not yet.” Lestrade steps into Mycroft’s personal space, and slides the robe off his shoulders. “Now… I’m getting there. Let me see the back.”

“Gregory…”

Rather than coax him, Lestrade takes matters into his own hands by placing his hands on Mycroft’s hips and turning him around. “Oh, sweet lord,” he moans, sliding a shaky hand over one rounded arse cheek. “You have no idea how sexy you look, Mycroft.”

“I’ll bet I look like a clown.”

“No, because I’m terrified of clowns.” Lestrade tugs and fits their hips together. “No clown could make me this hard.”

“I don’t understand,” Mycroft says, sounding a bit breathy. “It’s just pants.”

“Red pants,” Lestrade corrects. “They’re… um…incongruous. You’re buttoned up and waistcoats and umbrellas. But underneath all that is tight red pants. Like discovering a spicy curry in the middle of a biscuit.” His hand goes into the front of the pants, gently raking his nails through the soft hair. “Once I saw how you reacted to me in them, I just had to get a pair for you. Well… for me.”

Mycroft isn’t sure which feels better – arching into the tormenting hand inside his pants, or pressing back against the rather hard cock that’s poking his arse. “Gregory…”

“God, I love when you say my name like that… confused and aroused. You want me, want what I have to give you, but you don’t know how you got there so fast…. Right?”

“Yes, yes.” Mycroft is bordering on impatience now, torn between the two sensations. “I don’t understand how you can make me lose all sense of reason, and turn into a salivating, horny teenager in so short a time.”

“You make me feel the same way,” Lestrade says against Mycroft’s neck. The hand inside the red pants dips lower, teasing at the hard cock uncoiling in his hand. “And I don’t mind it all. Do you?”

Mycroft moans and thrusts against Lestrade’s questing fingers. “Nooo… not at all,” he says huskily.

Lestrade pulls Mycroft’s raging erection through the front opening. “Oh, yeah… that’s what I like to see.” His hand slides along the smooth skin, gently tugging back and forth. “Look how lovely that is against the red, Mycroft. Look down and see it.”

Risking a look down, Mycroft gasps at just how arousing the sight of his pale, hard flesh poking out above the red pants is. Gregory’s dark hand makes it even more delicious-looking. “Oh. That is very arousing.”

“Yes… very much so. What do you want to do?” Lestrade’s hand is jacking him slowly. “I’ll do whatever you want. It’s your birthday.”

“Mm…just keep doing that,” Mycroft moans, moving his hips forward with a hard snap. “That feels so good. And decadent. Your hands are rough, yet soft and gentle with me. It’s so… I can’t… ooh…”

“Keep it simple, Mycroft. Just relax and feel it, hm?” Lestrade moves his hand faster, his grip more firm.

“Yes.”

“So hard in your red pants… on Monday… doing it because you love me…” Lestrade nips at his neck, and moves his hand even faster.

“That’s it, that’s the way…” Mycroft moves his hips faster to match the motion of Lestrade’s tormenting hand.

“Come on, birthday boy… let me have you… lean back against me… I’ve got you…”

Mycroft leans his full weight against Lestrade’s back, and pushes forward into the hand fisting his cock. “Close…”

“Give it to me…”

“Gregory…!” Mycroft hisses and comes, sagging back with a groan.

Lestrade moves his hips forward hard, while using his free hand to insert his cock, now freed from the confines of his jeans, into the crease of Mycroft’s arse. “Beautiful…”

Mycroft straightens and pushes back, giving the friction he knows is needed to get his lover off. “Harder, Gregory… it feels good.”

“Mmm…” One final thrust, and Lestrade is coming, teeth latched onto Mycroft’s shoulder. “Damn… you’ve driven me mad in your red pants.”

Mycroft maneuvers them to the bed, and falls down on his side. “Is this going to be a thing?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Lestrade wipes them both clean with the discarded towel from earlier, and tucks Mycroft’s soft cock away. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“I should be thanking you. I’ve never enjoyed a birthday more.” Mycroft blushes as his stomach growls. “Sorry.”

“No need,” Lestrade says easily. “There’s food. Lie back against the pillows. I’ll feed you.”

“Gregory, I can-“

“I know you can, but I want to. Not like you’re a kid… like you belong to me, and I want to take care of you. And get you to lick my fingers.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “Hedonist.” He moves to the head of the bed, and props himself against the headboard. “Thank you, Gregory.”

“Happy Birthday, Mycroft. And many more.”


End file.
